


If I Were A Watchmaker

by katherineerosee



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Minor Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherineerosee/pseuds/katherineerosee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ve been asleep, Captain.” The man locked eyes with him, “for almost seventy years.” </p><p>His stomach lurched and he spun on his heel, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock “seventy years?” he breathed, eyeing the line-up of cars both surrounding him, and waiting at the tall, multi coloured lights behind him, “no, no way.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Were A Watchmaker

**Author's Note:**

> So this is Captain America AU with a bit of a twist - well, I've never seen anyone else do this in this fandom. 
> 
> Anyway, not too happy with how this turned out, but I had to get it out of my WIPs (for now, there's still more to work on...goddammit), so, here we are.

If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still relive the moment he shattered. It was often late at night, when the streaming rays of sunshine that seeped through the gaps in the blinds and swept across the creamy carpet had vanished, and the bustling nightlife of Midgar drifted up through his open window. When cool refreshing night breezes reminded him of freezing winter drafts, and the faraway whistle of a train shuddered through his body like a physical ache. It was then that he squeezed his eyes shut, body curling in like an infant seeking comfort and hands folded to his chest, that he could remember the day Cloud had suffocated in the glacial blanket that covered Icicle Inn. He recalled the screaming gales that deafened him as he leaned through the gap in the train car, the bone-cracking pressure that gripped him as he reached through the icy winds – _just a little bit further!_ – the fury and terror and anguish that twisted in his torso like a knife as Cloud’s slim fingers slipped through his. The scream of agony that tore through Cloud’s throat was mostly lost in the wind, but the first few notes hit Zack bone deep, and forced the air from his lungs. He’d had to bow his head under the strain.

Aerith had found him some time later – time and its passing was lost on him after that; it was too tortuous to count away the moments without Cloud by his side – her pretty pink dress fluttering about her calves and her silky brown hair trailing down her back in its usual braid. Her bright eyes were melancholy, jade turned to cloudy moss as she stared down at him. He’d swirled the amber liquid in his glass, fascinated at the pleasant burn it left in his throat, and determined to not stare at the rubble and ruin surrounding him. Her soft voice was ringing in his ears, flashing in and out of focus as his throat tingled and his eyes burned. Aerith had always been smart – beautiful, independent, charming, everything he _should_ want in a dame, and yet that desire had been swept into the snow alongside Cloud, buried deep with _feelings_ he knew were too late to express – and she noticed the glassy look in his eye, the rhythmic tighten and relax of his hand around the fragile glass, the nervous tapping of his feet.

“Tell me, did you truly like your friend?” Her words were even sharper this time, cutting through the haze and agony of his memories, “did you respect him?” Her arms were folded over her chest, mouth a thin line of soft red and eyebrows drawn in concern.

 _More than you’ll ever know._ “Yes.”

“Well then, stop blaming yourself,” she huffed, the few strands of hair around her face fluttering, “give your friend the respect of making his own decisions.” Her arms had unfolded, swaying restlessly at her sides. She looked as if she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. He was sure he wouldn’t refuse the contact, would revel in it, but not for the reasons she was hoping for. He’d noticed the stares she sent his way after he was pumped full of mako, after his shoulders filled out and he grew a whole foot in height, after he became this _persona_. Captain Fair was a title that was larger than life, and even _he_ knew he couldn’t fill the shoes ShinRa had given him. He knew that she was hoping to pursue something with him, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he joined Cloud on the other side.

* * *

At the time it had been a surprisingly easy decision, despite Aerith’s pleas over the com-system. He had to take this thing down, down into the frigid and unforgiving seas surrounding the Northern Crater. He glanced back for a moment, taking in the heavy missiles seated behind him. Each one had a label; “Midgar”, “Icicle Inn”, “Junon”, “Kalm”, “Wutai” the list went on, and each missile had something Hollander had referred to as _JENOVA_ implanted in them. If these reached anywhere beyond the ocean floor, thousands, _millions_ of people would die.

_Well, maybe I’ll finally be able to fill these shoes._

“We’ll have the band play something slow.” He was trying to calm Aerith, feed her some insincere and useless promises. He didn’t know why he thought it would work, Aerith was too smart to be fooled by empty vows and hopeless words. Perhaps he was terrified at the prospect of finally dying. Perhaps he was giddy with the thought of seeing Cloud again. It almost made him feel guilty, that he was so willing to leave Aerith behind after the kiss she gave him, he didn’t think she knew it didn’t make him feel whole again.

He knew it was better, not _kinder_ , but certainly easier – for him, at least, he thought selfishly – to leave Aerith with the thought that they could’ve danced, that they could’ve laughed and cried and fallen in love someday. She would mourn for the love she thought they could’ve had, but she would move on, she would dance and laugh and cry with someone else.

_I mean, surely she must know now that I would – will – follow Cloud to the ends of Gaia._

The glacial waves were mere metres from the tip of the aircraft, and he felt relief wash over him, a ball of tension in his chest releasing after months of agony. In those brief seconds before he said goodbye he thought over his life.

He remembered his once scrawny arms, small stature and weak lungs. Cloud used to tower over him, and he was never tall himself. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, all broad shouldered and confident, charming and mature, at least in the public eye. When it was just him and Zack, his shoulders slumped, the weight of the world collapsing down upon him, a guilty conscience for an innocent soul. But nonetheless, Cloud always stood tall over him, a comforting presence with an annoyingly comforting shadow.

Zack was always reckless; enthusiastic, outgoing and cheerful mainly, but reckless too. _Stubborn as a mule_ , that’s how his mother described him – a description that Cloud adopted within a few weeks of their friendship too. There wasn’t an evening out he wasn’t backed against a wall, mouthing off at some brute twice his size, but Cloud always swooped in to save him, all bared teeth and snarled insults, crinkled sneering and cool, detached sarcasm. Cloud, always calm and suave. If Zack was a rampant flame that set all he came into contact with alight, then Cloud was the glacial winds upon an icy desert, piercing and intense in his quelling nature.

He still remembered the countless arguments the two had, especially after Cloud was drafted into the army. ShinRa had been at war with Wutai for a couple of years by then – something about those new age “ _mako reactors_ ” that were springing up around the world – and ShinRa was ambitious they were going to win this war, assuming, of course, every suitable young man over the age of eighteen was willing to be deployed. Zack hadn’t made the cut. His asthma – which was enough to have him ruled out completely – combined with his small stature and pathetic muscle mass – and really, just his mass in general – and his tendency to come down with the flu – something that left Cloud murmuring prayers under his breath when he thought Zack was asleep – were all things that made his profile a little less than appealing. But Zack was furious, and determined, so he kept re-enlisting under different aliases. It was a small but warm comfort that all of Cloud’s gritted-teeth fury was born from concern for him.

He remembered the night before Cloud was deployed, how the blond had caught his bony wrist in a vice tight grip and dragged him out to the expedition for new technologies – at least that’s what Tuesti Sr. had dubbed it – with a couple of ladies. Cloud always looked at ease with women – something Zack envied greatly at the time – however he never seemed as interested as they were. It was as if he merely charmed them to show that he could, not that he wanted to. The crowd had been overwhelming and jostling that night, and somehow Zack had lost sight of Cloud and the two women that hung over each of his arms. He remembered the hopeful scrutiny in Dr Faremis’ steely eyes as he looked over Zack’s scrawny frame and determined spirit. The memories of Cloud blurred and warped after a moment, fading into consuming blackness, much like the metal carcass of the plane surrounding him into the depths of the ocean.

“I’d hate to step on your–”

* * *

“…and now we’re heading into the S rank race. This is sure to be a good one, rumour around the stables is that good ol’ Joe and his trusty stead Teioh will be coming in for the kill in this one. And honestly, this is no surprise with a rare, mastered summon Materia on the line–”

Zack awoke with a groan, the sharp white light of the window blurred around the edges in his drowsiness. He brought a stiff arm up to his face, the skin of his palm stretching uncomfortably, as if his hand hadn’t been used in an age. He stared blankly at his pale complexion – _when did that happen?_ – for a moment, the murmuring of a commentated Chocobo race fluttering about his ears and–

–and hadn’t he heard this before…? His eyes flickered over to the old fashioned radio at his bedside, vision still hazy in sleep. This race…this was the race he and Cloud had gone to see a few months before Cloud got drafted.

_“Ya know, Cloudy, I reckon you could be a Chocobo Jockey. Good money, I’ve heard.”_

_“Chocobo Jockey?” He heard the rustle of clothing and small murmurs near his ear over the roar of the crowd as Cloud traded in some Gil for a bet on the black Chocobo, Teioh. “I don’t think so, Fair,” the blond said with a chuckle, one hand coming up to ruffle Zack’s unruly locks, “I have a bit more dignity than that.”_

_“Don’t say that to Joe,” Zack snorted, “I don’t want you to get trampled by an enraged Chocobo and his Jockey.”_

_“Oh, please,” he swung a lean arm over Zack’s broad shoulders, and leaned in close, “you and I both know I’m gonna go down swinging,” his hot breath tickled Zack’s ear and made hairs rise on the back of his neck, “probably in some fight you started, too.” He leaned away again, and Zack had never missed him more._

_“Would you like another drink, gentlemen?” The sultry voice of the red-lipped waitress was as flirty as it had been when she’d first lain eyes on Cloud, and made something in Zack squirm and tense._

_“No thanks, love,” Cloud winked over at her, a small grin pulling at his lips, and suddenly Zack wished he were anywhere else._

“Good morning. Or should I say, afternoon.”

His head shot up from his pillow, hair flaring around him and eyes wild, “where am I?” He eyed the young nurse apprehensively, eyeing her meticulously curled hair, and the plain white of her dress.

“You’re in a recovery room,” she was flicking through a pale yellow folder clutched in her hands, “in New York City.” She closed the folder to look him in the eye, and suddenly the utter wrongness of the room was sharper than ever before.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, “where am I really?” He had heard this race before, he had _been_ at this race. In 1941, a month before Cloud was–

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Her voice was flat. Robotic.

“That race,” he turned and eyed the radio at his bedside with scrunched eyebrows, “it’s from May,” he looked back at her eyes, “1941. I know, because I was at that race.” He saw a muscle in her jaw twitch, and suddenly her composure was a cracking mask. He stood up from the bed slowly, one hand sliding across the scratchy woollen blanket to hold himself steady, “now, I’m gonna ask you one more time. Where am I?”

Her sandaled feet slide silently across the linoleum floor as she took a cautious step back, “Captain Fair?” Her emerald eyes flashed over to the door she’d emerged from as two men dressed in all black strode over the threshold. Their stances were threatening, and suddenly Zack was back in the concentration camp that had held Cloud for weeks, and an eerie fury wriggled in his gut.

“Who are you?” He felt his legs instinctively shift into a ready stance as the two men shot at him quickly. Their strength and speed was unexpected, and certainly unwelcome, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He swiftly dispensed of them, one flying through the drywall, the other swiftly following him.

“Wait!” The nurse yelled after him, but he heard nothing over the pounding of blood in his ears. It was all fake. The room, the nurse, the radio – it was a set. He felt something cool and numbing flood through his veins like medication, and suddenly he was outside, the yells and shouts of the building behind him.

It was all different, everything. Everything was strange and loud and bright – flashing lights with crisp, sharp steel buildings, thousands of people milling around, chattering and yelling and rushing through the paved sidewalks, cars unlike anything he’d ever seen, gliding smoothly across the charcoal grey bitumen, and–

“At ease, solider,” a deep voice rumbled over the screech of tires as several large, black cars squealed into formation around him. Horns blared around him in dizzying waves of sound to his enhanced ears, “my apologies for that little…show back there,” the man yelling at him calmly from one of the cars was broad and muscled, his shoulder length, black hair waving about his face, his sharp blue eyes screaming of power and authority, and yet his stance relaxed and open, “we thought it best to break this to you…slowly.”

His eyes flashed wildly as he stared around him at the noisy, bustling, metropolis, “…break what?” His voice was weak and cracked at the end as he realised whatever this man was going to say to him, he wasn’t going to like.

“You’ve been asleep, Captain.” The man locked eyes with him, “for almost seventy years.”

His stomach lurched and he spun on his heel, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock “seventy years?” he breathed, eyeing the line-up of cars both surrounding him, and waiting at the tall, multi coloured lights behind him, “no, no way.”

The man subtlety nodded his head, bright blue eyes sympathetic, “are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Zack nodded his head slowly, eyes drifting to the ground and remaining there, “yeah, I just…” memories bouncing around in his skull like angered wasps – Aerith, her pretty pink dress and pursed, red lips, the war and it’s endless bloody battlefields, JENOVA, and all the horrors it brought to the surface, Hollander, Gast, Cloud, oh beautiful, lovely, dead Cloud– “I had a date.”

* * *

His fists were clenched tightly, the nails digging into his palms and leaving bloody, crescent moons, his knuckles white and straining against the smudged wrappings around his hands. One powerful arm shot out and slammed into the low hanging punching bag in front of him, the chain creaking alarmingly before the bag was thrown across the dark room into the dirty cream of the wall.

“Trouble sleeping?” That same deep voice from before, the one that had both calmed and terrified him in the middle of a busy intersection rung out in the empty gym. Angeal.

“Are you here with a mission,” he turned to stare at the bulky man behind him, “sir?”

Angeal’s lips twitched up in amusement, his eyebrows quirking at Zack’s weary voice. “I am.”

Zack scoffed as he eyed the other man, turning again to unwrap his hands, “trying to get me back into the world?” Something in his chest tightened at the thought of letting all of the past – all of his _life_ back in 1941, back where it belonged. Back where he belonged.

Angeal sighed behind him, “no,” one of his large hands clamped down on Zack’s shoulder in both comfort and warning, “trying to save it.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...By the way, you guys should check out the band Hands Like Houses. Their lyrics have been the inspiration of many fics  & fic titles, and they're fucking awesome. So, yeah.


End file.
